Massage
by OnlyTheInevitable
Summary: Mulder's back hurts and Scully's more than willing to help him out. MSR. Smut.


**This is from a tumblr prompt asking me to do a massage turned NSFW! I'm going to go _extremely _out of my comfort zone and try, for _what I believe is the first time ever,_ to write in second person. I'm nervous, this is an experiment, so please bear with me.**

**_msr / s7 - set during the season of intense ust as I like to call it_**

You know it's a bad idea before the words even leave your mouth, but you can't help yourself - he looks like he is in pain and the doctor in you knows you can relieve his muscle tension (the lover in you knows that the method has been very well received by men in the past, and you'd do anything to see those expressions on Mulder's face or hear those sounds come from his lips).

It isn't as innocent or platonic as you tried to pretend it was.

"How about you turn around so your back is to me? I think I can help your pain," you tell him in a tone of voice that leaves no room for argument.

But Mulder is ever the contrarian, "I-That's okay, Scully. I don't want to put you out." His attempt at politeness is futile because you are already adjusting yourself onto your knees on the leather couch cushion, pivoting your body to face his.

"I insist," you demand. You hope he doesn't hear the slight tremor in your voice that feels like it's radiating through your whole body. In your new position, you're inadvertently closer to his height. You can feel your knees sliding towards him from his weight's indentation on the couch and your thighs burn in your attempt to prevent yourself from sliding flush against him.

"Well, who am I to turn down a free massage?" he laughs, trying to mask his nervousness with humor, just as you've tried to mask yours with professionalism.

You let out a small breath as he turns and brings one leg up onto the couch, keeping the other planted on the ground, so that his back is to you. It's not like either of you are puritans who've never touched, no. There was last week when you were bold enough to lay your legs across his lap as you watched the movie playing, both of you conscious about the growing bulge under your calf, but neither making a move to say anything - not even when his pants were tented as you left and you were bold enough to hug him. There was the other day at your place when some ice cream melted down your chin and onto your clavicle and he cleaned you up with his tongue, all while maliciously avoiding your lips which, despite having just touched ice cream, felt like they were on fire.

It was the recent closeness, the recent boldness, that has you both on edge. It's one thing to recognize that a situation is intimate, it's another to recognize a situation as intimate with the impending prospect of it quickly and easily turning into more.

And you want it to be more.

Oh, fuck, do you want it to be more.

You've been trying to gather the courage to snuggle against his side in the hopes he might just wrap his arm around you for the last hour since he popped in the VHS tape of Mrs. Doubtfire. Then he'd made that offhand comment about having slept wrong, and fate handed you a new idea on a silver platter.

You rest your hands on his shoulders for 'stability' as you lean yourself forward, so close that your breasts rub against his back, and more importantly so your mouth is against his ear. "Tell me if it hurts or if you need me to stop," you whisper lowly, and you can feel his suppressed shudder beneath your palms.

If he weren't being adorably shy, something unexpected and indescribably endearing you've discovered since you both started dancing in this will-they-won't-they limbo, you think that he might've said something lascivious like "Hey, that's usually my line." But he is nervous, so he just nods.

Starting at his shoulders, you spread your fingers slightly to cover more surface area as you dig in with your palms in a circular motion. His neck falls forward almost immediately and, your own selfish arousal aside, knowing that you're easing his pain makes you happy. You repeat the motion rhythmically over and over, moving your hands slowly over and around his shoulder blades, making sure you use your thumbs to massage around his spine.

"You're really good at this," he rasps in a low voice filled with relief (which in these moments sounds startlingly like pleasure) and it shoots straight through you.

"Thanks," you reply, and if he's surprised your tone matches his when you're not even the one being touched, he doesn't make a comment.

You scootch closer to him, close enough that you swear you can feel his body heat radiating through his thin shirt and then you get an idea.

"Can I take off your shirt?"

You're not going to pretend like there's a reason. You think for a moment about boasting how it'd make the massage more effective, but there's no point when part of you wants him to know that you want to touch his body.

"Yeah," he agrees, lifting his arms like a child. You're confused for a moment before you realize he's holding you to your word. You didn't ask if he could take off his shirt, you asked if you could. It wasn't purposeful, but you're thankful for the small gift.

You move your hands down to the hem of his shirt and you drag it obscenely slowly up his body, making sure your fingers glide against his torso the whole way up. As the shirt passes the area in front of your face, you are overwhelmed by the waft you get of his scent and you swear to yourself it's one of the world's most powerful aphrodisiacs.

You toss the shirt onto the floor next to the couch and you're left with a canvas of flesh in front of you that's been painted with goosebumps. "Cold?" you joke.

"Quite the opposite," he replies with a small smile clear in his tone.

You swallow thickly in response to his bold answer and put your hands back onto his body, this time squeezing up and down the length of his arms, feeling his taut, strong muscles under his soft flesh. You're touching him with so much reverence, it feels like you're reading scripture in braille - but the comparison doesn't quite fit. Scripture could never conjure the sinful thoughts Mulder's flesh does.

You shift your weight on your knees as you feel another gush of arousal dampen the crotch of your underwear and you start to fear he might smell you in the air like a perfume - Eau de Scully. As you shift, your breasts rub inadvertently against his back and you swear he pushes back lightly against you at the same time you hear a sharp intake of breath. Maybe it was your own gasp - you're drunk off the feeling of his skin beneath you and nothing else seems to really matter.

Bringing your hands to the nape of his neck, you start a downward path to his tail bone. It's an agonizingly long journey though, because with every vertebra you descend, your hands flutter horizontally to his sides just to come back again and continue your descent down. It's like you're memorizing the geographic plains and territories of his back like a map you're committing to memory.

A few times as you've been doing this, he's let out little sighs of pleasure. There's even been a few small moans that he's tried to cut off in the back of his throat which only serve to make them sound like strangled groans. You're all but squeezing your thighs together rhythmically in harmony with every time you press down into his muscle. It almost crudely feels like you're masturbating using Mulder's body as the conduit for your own pleasure and it's insanely erotic.

Speaking of masturbation, glancing down, you can tell Mulder has both hands resting in between his legs and out of sight. You may have just believed he was covering up his inevitable erection, but that doesn't explain why you can see his forearms flex ever so slightly. He's rubbing against himself and you know it.

And you want to be the one doing it.

You've undoubtedly covered every inch of his body by now and the room is charged with tension. The Scully from a few months ago, who let's be honest - would never have been in this situation to begin with, would have patted him on the back, said "there you go" and politely ignored the way he ran to the bathroom and ran the water for a few minutes.

But you started this knowing full well there was only one real way for this to go and you're done prolonging the inevitable. Once you're at the base of his spine, you continue your pattern of going out horizontally, now towards his hips. Except this time you don't stop. You can feel his body tense in anticipation of your unexpected move as your fingers glide smoothly over his hip bones. Your left hand moves so that you're encircling his waist as the other slides over the front of his jeans so that you're palming his erection.

His hips thrust languidly into your hand as his head falls back onto your shoulder. "Fuck, Scully," he gasps in awe as you move your hand up and down his erection with gentle pressure.

You can feel his words against your collarbone since he's laying on you, and you take advantage of the position to lower your head so you can suck on the tender skin covering a tendon in his neck. One of his hands comes up to cradle your head and it sends shivers down your spine to feel his nails graze your scalp.

You let go of his neck in favor of nipping at his earlobe as you move to undo the clasp of his pants. The button has just come undone when he deftly spins in your arms. The unexpectedness of his movements has you falling backwards, but he catches you as you shift your knees out from underneath you.

The end result is you reclined on your back, looking up at Mulder who's in between your parted legs and hovering over you with the gaze of a lion who's just set eyes on a lamb. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you breathe quickly. You know you're wearing your arousal like a second skin and you don't feel anything other than excitement.

Mulder's eyes lower onto your rising and falling chest and you know he's looking at your hardened nipples, standing out prominently against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. He brings his hands up to the bottom edge and looks to your face for permission. "May I?" he requests breathily.

You nod and arch your back as he gives you the same torturous treatment you gave him earlier. You're pretty sure he's only actually grabbing your shirt with his pinky and ring fingers, because he's palming and fondling your sides enthusiastically, grabbing at them like your body is his lifeline.

You're temporarily blinded as your shirt covers your eyes, and when you can see again, you're greeted with Mulder licking his lips as he stares at your thin, nude bra. It's not the sexiest thing you own, but the way Mulder's appraising you, you're fairly certain you could be wearing a burlap sack.

You lock eyes and you don't want any roadblocks for whatever he has planned for you. Lifting your hips, and rubbing yourself against his leg in the process, your hands dart to unbutton your jeans and lower your zipper. Mulder's eyes follow your hands and he moans from the visual stimulation alone. He steps off the couch for a moment and finishes what you started earlier, unzipping his own pants and stepping out of them, toeing off his socks while he watches you wiggle your hips and bring your jeans down your legs.

Mulder finishes the job by grabbing the legs of your pants and pulling at them, helping them slide off the rest of your legs. It was easier than either of you anticipated, so he stumbles back, just catching himself in time before falling on his ass, and the force makes you half slide off the couch. A laugh erupts from your throat at how eager you both are and he smiles at you in kind.

The laughter dies down as his eyes greedily roam your bra and underwear clad body and you're not sure whether to scoot back into the same position or do something different. Everything feels suddenly more vulnerable now that you're both so bare. Mulder must be thinking the same thing because he speaks up, "I can't believe we're really doing this." His disbelief is matched in his tone and it makes you want to make sure he leaves this encounter knowing that this is what you've wanted for god knows how long.

You extend a hand out to him and he takes your cue to grab it and help you to your feet. Yet again, neither of you realize the power of your excitement as you launch yourself too hard and he overcompensates, sending you straight into his arms. Which was the goal anyway so it doesn't matter to you.

You stand on your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your whole body flush against his so that you can feel his erection pressing into your stomach, only heightening your own arousal. You shift and squirm your body against his so that you're rubbing yourself against him. He groans and unexpectedly grabs you by the undersides of your thighs and hoists you up so that his erection is right against your swollen folds. You're looking down at him now and still, despite the fact you just not-so-subtly tried to seduce him, he is looking at you as if asking silent permission and affirmation that what he is doing is okay.

You tentatively rock your hips against him and you both hiss in a breath. His fingers dig into your thighs, pressing you intimately closer to him and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Trying to blink away the sensation for a moment, because there's still something you need to do, you look down at him and, placing a finger under his chin, lift his gaze to your eyes. "I've wanted this for so long, Mulder," you breathe.

You don't give him a chance to reply before your lips are crashing onto his. He opens his mouth eagerly and you accept the invitation without a moment's thought. You're kissing Mulder. Mulder's kissing you. You gasp into his mouth as you feel something cold against your back and your eyes shoot open and you realize he's walked you both over to the nearest wall and he has you pinned against it with his hips.

His lips move to your neck where he starts mimicking your earlier actions on him, but there's this little thing he's doing with his tongue that makes your toes curl and makes a doofy smile cross your lips. You begin, to the best of your ability, undulating your hips against him so you can feel his cock throb against you, it causes him to groan into your neck and you decide in that moment you've both waited long enough.

Reaching down, you tug at his boxers, but your joined hips prevent them from sliding down. He careens his head back to look at you through hooded lids and asks "Are you sure?"

"Now," you demand. You're pretty sure you could've been more eloquent if you weren't so damned aroused, but the message was received loud and clear either way. He pulls back only slightly so that he can free himself and you can sense he's going to set you down so you can take off your underwear but you'd sooner die than break the contact. "No, just move them," you whine, and yet again, he does as he's told but this time with a cocky, aroused smile.

You feel your entire body jolt in pleasure as his head brushes against your aching clit and ll thoughts are wiped from your brain as he plunges his thick cock into you, stretching and filling you.

"Mulder," you gasp as if the word is ripped from your soul, clenching your thighs around his waist and arching your back. The intensity of your reaction to him makes him have to readjust his footing, but he's stabilized in no time and is soon enough thrusting into you, going deeper and deeper with each upward jerk of his hips. "Oh my god," you moan as you enjoy the sensation of your partner, your best friend, Fox Mulder being inside you.

"You feel so- Scully I can't believe..." he groans into your ear, his whole body rubbing against yours as he bucks against you. The picture frames that are adorning the same wall your body's been mounted on are shaking with the force of your lovemaking and it takes one falling to the ground with a loud crash for you to remember how this all started.

"Mulder," you call out. You realize he's taking it as another cry of pleasure as he responds with 'fuck yeah', and you have to say it again. The pleasure in your tone can't be shaken though, as you tap his shoulder.

"Hmm?" he hums in questioning as he immediately stills inside you.

"Y-your back. You're sore," you murmur, as if you really think his back is what he's thinking of while he's balls deep in you.

"Fuck my back," he replies, leaning in to place a kiss to your lips, which you allow for a selfish moment before pulling back.

"No, lay down," you demand.

He cocks an eyebrow in eager curiosity as he slides out of you and lets you down to your feet. Realistically, you didn't specify, but part of you is still shocked when he lies down on the hardwood floor. You didn't specify, and you don't care. This probably isn't any better for his back, but seeing him lying in his glory, his erection at full mast, while he looks at you with those eyes has you on your knees and aligning yourself on top of him instantly, stopping only for a moment to shuck off your panties.

He grabs your hips and lets out a slow breath as you lower down onto him. You sit on him, his cock fully plunged inside of you as you reach around yourself to unclasp your bra, earning a "Holy shit, Scully," as you throw it away from yourself, leaving you bare to him.

You start rocking on him and he lifts his hands to cup and play with the weight of your breasts. You've done the same self examination countless times, but it feels so much different with his larger, rougher hands, and you can't help put lean forward into his touch, encouraging him to knead and pinch them in exploration.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs as he readjusts his legs into a position where he can meet you thrust for thrust.

One of his hands leaves your breasts and feels the skin of your collarbone, then your neck (you wonder if he can feel your heart thrumming through the thin skin), and continues up until his thumb is stroking your lip.

Locking eyes with him, you draw the digit into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it before hollowing your cheeks. His mouth drops open in pleasure and you trail over the grooves on the pad of his thumb with the tip of your tongue before getting an idea. You release the digit, feeling the trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his thumb snap back lewdly against your chin. "Touch me," you command, wanting some attention on your screaming clit. You're so close you can feel it.

He nods and lowers the wet thumb to your bud, putting pressure on it instantly. "Oh fuck," you scream, letting your palms splay out on his chest as you pick up your pace, snapping your hips against him as rhythmically as you can. He's swirling against you with fervored intention and you swear you can see stars when you close your eyes.

"Scully, look at me," he requests, rotating his hips with every upward stroke. With effort, you look down and see pure animalistic lust looking back at you. He wants to see you come and you know it and you're so, so, so fucking close it's all you can think about. You can feel his cock plunging into you, he's so thick and swollen you swear to god you can feel every ridge and vein as he fucks you. His fingers are swirling and pinching your clit and you feel like your sex has a magnet and he's the negative end your positive end is intrinsically drawn to but yet you feel like you can never possibly be close enough to him. He's still working your breasts with his free hand and you feel like you've never had so many places on your body feeling so much pleasure at once and it's overwhelming. But then you really see the way he's looking at you, the adoration in his eyes, and then overwhelming is exactly what it is.

And you're coming.

Hard.

You feel like your whole body is experiencing riptides of pleasure originating at the point you both meet and rippling through every cell of your body. You're quivering, you're shaking, you're pulsing, you're orgasming so hard you can't even hear anything.

You see as much as you feel Mulder come with you. His eyes widen as his jaw drops sensually. He's still pumping into you, at a rapid pace and you can feel his come spurting into you and being pulled down with his thrusts, spilling out of you and coating his cock.

When the aftershocks are done, you collapse forward, still with him inside of you, and bury your head into the crook of his neck, trying your best to steady your breathing. "Wow," you gasp against his skin.

You feel his hands come up and stroke your spine lovingly and your whole body rises and falls with his breaths and your own until they sync up and slow. "I stand by what I said earlier," he murmured tiredly.

"Hmm?" she replied in kind.

"You're really good at that," he chuckled, hugging her close to his sweaty body.

She placed a kiss to his shoulder and nuzzled against him. "You should see what I can do in a bed."


End file.
